By The Light Of The Full Moon
by TheChasm
Summary: "But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything." By the light of the full moon, four friends keep an old tradition. One is dead, one imprisoned, one in hiding and one has been left to pick up all the pieces. And once, they thought their bond was unbreakable...
1. Sunset

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: My first story! This follows all four Marauders through the first full moon of 1982. It is EXTREMELY angsty. There will probably be seven chapters; here is the first. Please enjoy, and leave a review!**

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**Sunset**

Death is not freedom.

No; the dead are bound by rules and regulations, and as James stirs the water of the gazing-pool with his fingers (the ones that don't exist) he thinks that is the worst of it.

The gazing-pool is open all hours of the day, but seeing things from _above_ is not the same as being there. If he wants, he can dive into the pool and hover invisibly behind the people he loves, but he has exceeded his quota of visits for the moment. In approximately two minutes, however, he will be able to return to the world again, and so he is sitting by the pool and twitching with impatience as he stares at his son.

Harry is sleeping, his small chest rising up and down as he lies in the cot in the room he shares with his demonic cousin. Any other evening, James would dive into the pool to spend the night simply watching his child sleep. He has only been a father for a year and a half and even death has not quite made the novelty wear away. Harry will never see him, but that doesn't mean that he can't spend his (infinite) time with his son.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

His restriction time is over. He glances over at Lily, sitting against a tree and hugging her knees to her chest, before leaning forward. He whispers the name Remus Lupin to the water and dives head-first into the pool.

It feels hot and bright, the exact opposite of the soft, cool darkness of dying. The first time James made a visit he was convinced that he was coming back to life. He's used to it by now, though.

He is never sure why he keeps coming back here during the full moon. Perhaps it is in keeping with old traditions, or just a morbid desire to be there if Remus dies. Or maybe it is the fact that Remus is his brother and brothers stand together.

(They must have forgotten to tell Peter that.)

The basement in which Remus transforms is dark and cold. The first time James saw it, (back when he _lived_) the impossible had happened: he had actually appreciated the Shrieking Shack. That was the first time he had realised that Remus was a _lucky_ werewolf. The thought made him sick.

The last, dying rays of sunlight accentuate the smell of blood, and if James had a throat he would feel bile rise up in it. But where is Remus?

There! Remus is huddled up in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest like Lily back in heaven. He is shivering, too, with not even a blanket wrapped around his shaking shoulders. Remus... Remus is crying.

James wishes he were able to kill himself.

.

The shadows are strong tonight.

Sirius has been counting days, scratching tally marks into the stone wall of his cell. It's too dark to see them now, but he doesn't need to. He knows what tonight is. Ten years of being friends with a werewolf have given him a strong mental calendar. But it's not a happy thing, and the Dementors can't drive it away.

Usually, he doesn't let himself remember. Hide the happy memories, bury them deep within your soul, (like the secret he gave to someone else) and the Dementors can't get at them.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

Remembering _hurts_. It's a battle of wills against the Dementors, and usually there's a predetermined winner in that fight. But Sirius is strong. They will not take these memories from him: black-and-white jumbles of howls in the night and running free under the full moon. They can't take those memories from him.

He's never quite sure why the light of the full moon makes him remember. Perhaps it is some form of self-punishment (his fault that Remus is alone, his fault Remus is hurting, why is it that everything he does hurts Remus?), or else just the desire to keep with old traditions. Or maybe some stupid part of him thinks that Remus can feel his guilt, his misery, his desperation.

The last glimmers of red light are fading. A picture flashes in front of his eyes, of Remus alone and ill in that basement he transforms in. His friend's eyes are heavy with dread, but he does not complain. He suffers in silence, plasters smiles onto his face every day, and only those huge eyes betray the magnitude of his loss.

Sirius wonders if Remus hates him. He supposes he does. When he was told he would be thrown into Azkaban without a trial, he demanded to speak to Dumbledore. Dumbledore refused. Then Sirius lost control and screamed for Remus, called his friend's name over and over again. He did not have any illusions about being freed, but he just needed to see Remus one more time. He needed to say sorry.

But Remus wouldn't see him.

Sirius doesn't blame him. Everyone hates him now. Sirius hates himself. James doesn't hate him, and he clings to that thought on the bad days, but – James is _dead._

Cousin Bellatrix is laughing. He isn't sure why. Perhaps she doesn't know, either. Bella has always been insane, and Azkaban isn't helping her. (His greatest fear is ending up like her.)

He wonders where The Rat is. A small growl issues up in his throat, and he shakes the thought away. Tonight is for thinking of Remus.

Remus, shaking in the basement's corner as his muscles spasm with the beginning of the change; Remus shivering with fever and never crying out in pain; Remus all alone.

(Remus, whom he didn't trust.)

The sun sinks below the horizon and Sirius whimpers involuntarily. Remus, he's sorry.

.

Anything is preferable to dying.

That was what Peter told himself over and over, when Caradoc Dearborn and Marlene McKinnon and Edgar Bones were murdered. That was what he told himself when James and Lily died. _At least it isn't me._

But Remus has always been different. Peter tells himself that James and Sirius thought he was a worthless tag-along, that he's better off without them; but Remus _didn't_. He never has.

(The truth is that Remus never did anything to hurt him, and Peter repaid him by stealing everything he cared about.)

The fire in the living room of The Burrow is warm and inviting, and Peter would have to be a fool to go outside on any other night. Outside it is cold and dark and full of owls just aching to snatch up a nice, fat rat. Peter should just stay in the house.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

He slips out of the back door and runs (like a coward and a rat) until he reaches the end of the garden. There he flattens himself to the ground beside the hedge and watches the sky, which is slowly fading from bloodstained red to the inky-blue-purple of twilight.

Sometimes Peter loathes himself. It is rare that he is this honest with himself, but tonight he knows that it is his fault a child has been orphaned, his fault an innocent man is locked up, his fault Remus is all alone.

(Remus _trusted _him.)

The world thinks Peter is a hero. He has even read his own obituary: _Peter was braver than anyone, including him, thought. Finally, he has the recognition he always deserved. Rest in peace, old friend. _Remus wrote it, of course.

Peter isn't brave. _Remus_ is brave, because no matter what happens to him he can carry on living. If one thing could make Peter come out of hiding, it would be Remus – clever, strong, kind Remus. But Peter is a coward and a traitor and more than anything, a liar – because he can't bring himself to tell them all the truth.

Remus thinks Peter is a hero. And Peter can't bear to lose that.

The blood-red sun vanishes and he sighs. Remus is suffering, Sirius is suffering, James is dead – and Peter hides, because he's not strong enough to face the consequences of his actions.

Yes, Peter hides. After all, if there's one thing rats are good at, it's surviving.

.

Monsters can't hide under human skin.

Sometimes Remus thinks, with the quiet introspection that makes him – well, _Remus_, that the apartment building he lives in is rather like him. It is calm and respectable on the outside. His flat is neat and clean, if a little shabby. But it has a dark secret: this basement, with its hard stone floor and stench of blood and wolf. There are shadows in its corners and bloodstains on its walls, and it looks the furthest thing from innocent.

Obviously, there are no windows in the basement, but Remus does not need to see the sky to know that the sun is on the verge of vanishing. He imagines the Thames turned blood-red in the fading light and cannot help but shiver.

One of the hardest things about the two transformations he has had since – since – since _it_ is the beginning: he has grown used to people helping him out of his robes, taking his wand and hiding it where the wolf can't possibly get at it, stroking his forehead in an attempt to bring down the fever. Right now he is tired and drained, but still he points his wand at the basement door, muttering wards that he hopes are powerful enough for the wolf to stay away.

(He should have known it wasn't going to last.)

He pulls off his clothes, Levitating them to the top of the room and praying that this will be enough to keep them out of harm's way. But these are futile hopes – he's agitated, and he knows it will be a bad moon. Then again, which moons aren't?

(The ones that _they_ were there for.)

There are ghosts in this room. Remus draws his knees up to his chest, staring around in fright as James finishes the wards on the door, Peter tidies away his clothes and Sirius sits down beside him, telling jokes to take his mind off the transformation. He can see them; he's sure of it.

(Even when he's in _Azkaban_, even when they're _dead_, they can't stop bothering him, can they?)

Normally, Remus doesn't let himself cry. He struggles through his daily life, meets the eyes of the people he talks to and smiles when they tell him that they don't employ _werewolves_. If he cracks, they'll know he's not good enough, know that he's weak, know that he's out of control and grieving and _not-only-a-monster-but-miserable-too_. If he cracks, Sirius will have won.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

He's just so _tired_. Tired of pretending, tired of living, tired of being alone again. He bends his head and cries, desperately, brokenly. Please, please, _please_, he wants to shout. Can't you just come back? Can't you stay with me – _PLEASE_! Nobody answers.

(Nobody listens to a monster; everyone knows that werewolves can't have friends.)

He makes a small, keening noise; this close to the moon he is more canine than human, his muscles beginning to spasm and his eyes slowly turning amber. His sobs echo off the stone walls as his legs start to twitch and the fever mounts relentlessly. He's so tired of everything, and he just wishes they were here. This is what happens when Remus dares to trust. _Monsters_ can't afford to trust.

(He's had his fun now.)

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**A/N: Well, that's the first chapter! I do hope you enjoyed it; please tell me in a review! I adore the Marauders and Remus especially.**

**~Butterfly**


	2. Twilight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand here's chapter 2! It took me quite a while to write, but I hope it was worth the wait!**

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**Twilight**

Remus has stopped crying. Now he sits silently in the corner of the basement, twitching occasionally. James hovers near him, wishing that there was some way of telling his friend he isn't alone. Wishing there was something he could do.

The sun has set completely, and they wait in the strange purple limbo between day and night. James can tell that it will be a bad transformation: Remus's breath is coming fast and unsteady, his teeth are chattering and every time his muscles spasm pain flashes across his face. When James draws closer, he can feel the fever heat coming off his friend in waves. (How he can feel it, James isn't sure. He doesn't have any nerve endings.)

James has always hated this room – its pathetic size, cold stone floor and dark, evil-smelling air do not do much to endear it to him. Now, he thinks, it has an unmistakeable air of sadness to add to its misery. Perhaps it is in the dark bloodstains on the walls or maybe the harsh lack of living friends to ease the transformation. Or perhaps it is the lone occupant, whose eyes are heavy with sorrow.

(There are silver hairs in amongst the brown and his shoulders bear the tired resignation of a much older man; and it just isn't fair because _he's_ _not yet twenty-two_.)

They will all grow old without him, James realises. He has thought this before, but rarely has it hit him so hard. Remus will turn twenty-two all alone; Sirius will perhaps not even know the date of his birthday by the time it comes around; Peter will spend his as a rat; and Harry, little Harry, will perhaps not even be remembered on the day he turns two.

But they will reach those birthdays. And James? He'll remain forever twenty-one.

Remus's eyes begin to glow. By the time the change is complete the soft, warm brown will be replaced by amber; the sadness will be exchanged for rage. Their waiting time is coming to an end, now – in a few minutes the full moon will rise, and even as the world gleams silver his friend's mind will be overcome by shadows.

Remus shudders and a small moan of pain escapes his lips. He twitches ferociously, body humming with tension. Then suddenly he is completely still. His eyes rove around the room, and for the briefest of moments James could swear their gazes meet.

Remus is still, and James could feel relief; but he knows it is only the calm before the storm.

.

It is dark.

(Outside, that is. It's always dark inside Sirius's mind these days.)

By this, Sirius gathers that the sun has set and they are waiting for the full moon to rise. He curls up in a corner of his cell and imagines Remus doing the same in his own sort of prison. His breath comes a little faster and his eyes burn with tears that he won't allow to fall, because Remus is hurting and it's _all Sirius's fault_.

No. He mustn't think like this. He's innocent; he knows that he's innocent. It was The Rat. Not Sirius. Sirius is innocent. He killed James and Lily… he's innocent. He's innocent.

The self-loathing is the worst, because it consumes you without permission, and you don't need Dementors to go mad then. Sirius can't let himself feel guilty, because he _knows_ that he's innocent.

(But on full-moon nights it's just so hard to remember that.)

It's been two months of imprisonment now, and Sirius won't let them break him. They can't break him, because he's _Sirius Black_ and he's not used to being defeated. He can taunt his harpy of a mother and get away with it; he's the Slytherin in Gryffindor and he proved the Sorting Hat right; he's betrayed his friend because he thought it would be funny but Remus forgave him just like _that_. The world bends when he tells it to and he'll flaunt his survival just because he can.

(It has never been his way to be sensible.)

And full-moon nights have always made him reckless, because after all there is nothing quite like the thrill of playing tag with a werewolf. So he dangles happy memories in front of the Dementors' noses and smirks to himself as he snatches them away again.

After all, he's _Sirius Black _and for him, life's a competition that he always, always wins. And maybe the others – mature Lily, brave James and calm Remus – hated him for that, just a little bit, because they knew that sometimes you just _have_ to lose.

And he has held his best friend's body and been framed for the crime of betraying him, but inside he's still the reckless teenage biker with the never-failing smirk. He clings to scraps of sanity and refuses to believe that they are fading, and he'll survive this place, because he has to.

And from the cell opposite, Bella laughs, because she knows the truth about their prison – and Sirius is innocent in more ways than one.

.

He won't let himself be scared.

Any other night, maybe. But it is Peter's fault he is in this mess and if Remus is going to suffer, he will too. Yes, he's cold, but Remus is shivering with fever; maybe he's terrified of being spotted by a predator, but Remus is about to turn into a beast; perhaps he wishes for someone to talk to but because of him Remus is wishing the same.

(He wants to be there; he _does_. Truly.)

The sky is a deep, velvety blue-purple. Peter keeps his eyes on the east, waiting for the hint of silver that signals moonrise. The hills around Ottery St Catchpole are calm and beautiful, but he can feel his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension – a remnant from nights spent in the Shrieking Shack or Remus's basement, waiting for the moon to rise.

There is a part of Peter that is running through the pre-transformation routine in his head and trying not to wonder how Remus is doing it alone. The wards on the door, concealing his robes, the _waiting_… He should have his friends there with him.

But, Peter remembers, Remus has done it alone before, hasn't he? He had been a werewolf for many years already by the time they mastered the Animagus transformation. It's not like this is anything _new_ for him. He'll be alright.

(Peter has always been good at smothering his conscience.)

An owl hoots overhead and he jumps, scurrying back under the safety of the garden hedge. Was he always this skittish? Sometimes he is not sure whether his Animagus form reflects his character or shaped it. Maybe once he didn't squeak in fear at the first sign of danger. Maybe once his first instinct wasn't always to _run_.

(Maybe once, he would have been brave enough to reveal himself.)

But his life is a series of choices, and he made the wrong one in the end. _Will you choose Gryffindor or Slytherin?_ Gryffindor – I can be brave when I want to be. _Will you stay friends with a werewolf or betray him?_ He's still the same person. _Will you break the law for him?_ Yes. _Will you join the Order of the Phoenix; will you fight?_ My friends are doing it, so I will too. (And it doesn't matter if I'm scared.)

_Will you tell me where the Potters live?_ Godric's Hollow.

And that, Peter supposes, is where he went wrong. Now the Dark Lord is fallen and his friends can't protect him, and Peter hides because maybe he wasn't a Gryffindor after all. (Gryffindors are courageous; Gryffindors do the right thing.)

_Will you help your friend when he is suffering; will you be the person that he thinks you are? _

(No.)

.

He's so _cold_.

As the fever increases Remus begins to shiver ever more violently. Ice is stealing over his body, claiming his hands and feet and slowly spreading up his limbs. The pre-transformation tremors are beginning, too; his back arches and his arms twitch.

Before, there would be someone sitting beside him, rubbing small circles on his back and keeping their arm around him to warm him. All three of his friends used to whisper words of encouragement to him: _don't worry, it's alright, we're here for you_. The first transformation after _it_, he tried saying them for himself.

(It didn't work.)

Remus's heart is thumping wildly, as if he is excited; as if he has something to look forward to. As the moon draws ever closer he is engulfed by bleak hopelessness, and the thin flame of hope that he somehow manages to keep alight for most of the month flickers and dies. What, exactly, is the point of carrying on?

The room shifts in and out of focus as Remus's head begins to swim; he wants to curl into himself but his muscles spasm too fiercely to allow that. The arms of the ghost-Marauders snake around his shoulders, but after all, the dead don't give much body warmth.

(Sirius, _his_ Sirius, is as dead as the other two.)

He wonders idly if he is losing his mind: it surely isn't normal to visualise absent friends in your basement. Then he remembers that he _is_ losing his mind, or will be shortly.

He shivers, blinking once or twice, and the ghosts of his friends as they used to be vanish. He doesn't mind – they only made him feel lonelier, knowing that he is the last one standing after the Marauders crumbled and fell.

The cold is unbearable, and the worst thing is that he's not sure whether it comes from the January night or the gnawing pain of loneliness.

His body twitches restlessly, helpless to the power of the moon. Remus wants to be still, to savour the last few moments of human sanity, but control has never been easy in the moments before. His spine arches once more and he gives a little whimper of pain.

(Maybe it's just that, an expression of the discomfort of aching muscles and burning head; or maybe it's a call for help that will never come.)

When the stillness at last descends upon him, Remus immediately wishes for movement again. His eyes flick around the room as sick claustrophobia rises up in him. The moon is very close now.

He waits quietly, and the deserted basement mirrors his empty, empty heart.

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**A/N: Again, I'm very sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm now going to do some shameless self-advertising and direct you to the four one-shots I have posted in the meantime: ****_Perfect, Counting Stars, Of Chocolate-Chip Cookies and Moonlit Epiphanies, _****and ****_Strong Words_****. My friend Delta, whom I share this joint account with, has also posted an absolutely incredible story called ****_Beside The Moonlit River_****, which I urge you to read!**

**Please tell me what you thought of chapter two in a review!**

**~Butterfly**


	3. Moonrise

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: So this chapter was ready for posting yesterday afternoon, before Word crashed and wiped half of it out not once but TWICE. Then the site was down for a while, and when it came back up I lost my Internet connection. At long last, however, and despite many difficulties, I present to you... chapter 3!**

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**Moonrise**

Of course, it's never easy.

James had always visualised Remus's change as similar to theirs: smooth, quick and painless. He had read the books. He knew that a werewolf's transformation is different to an Animagus's. But for some reason, it didn't sink in until the first time they went to the Shrieking Shack together. James was almost too late with the change that month, preoccupied as he was with the obvious agony in front of him.

Therefore whenever he changed, he couldn't help but feel a tiny stab of guilt – he could do it so _easily_, and Remus suffered so. But what he felt then is nothing compared to what he feels now: silent, helpless, non-existent.

The first sign that the moon has risen is Remus's gasp. His eyes widen and make the final transition from brown to yellow as his neck arches. James draws away, hovering in the corner and wishing he could shield his eyes.

(Because as terrible as the transformation was while he lived, it is a thousand times worse now that there is nothing he can do to help.)

There is a horrible cracking sound as Remus's bones snap and ripple. Then for the briefest moment there is silence. Remus bites down on his lip until he draws blood, and James wonders dispassionately why he continues to muffle the sound when as far as he knows, there is no-one present to hear it.

The next moment James wants the silence back desperately, because Remus throws back his head and _screams_. James knows there are soundproofing charms on the door, but some part of him is sure that the shrieks are loud enough to overpower even those. (He always does think that.)

The cracks are louder now as the bones in his friend's body break and elongate, turning into something quite different. Remus's hair is lightening to a silvery-grey colour as fur of the same shade sprouts along his limbs. But nothing can distract James from the screaming – an endless song of anguish that seems to just grow louder.

The screaming is the worst.

James will never become used to the screams, but he has learned to analyse them: the way they seem more raw and guttural on bad moons, and the high-pitched continuity on what will be an easy night. The past two transformations have both been dreadful, but somehow James can hear an extra note of sorrow this month. It would be similar to the sound of an abandoned puppy (and he supposes that is what the wolf is – abandoned) except it is loud and strong and _awful_.

Remus's thin hands are now huge pads covered in course grey fur, his mouth has grown huge fangs and his ears have travelled to the top of his head. He writhes on the floor as his screams begin to sound more canine, but behind the yellow eyes he is still _Remus_. The mind is always the last to go.

Finally the scream turns into a howl of rage and the wolf springs to its feet. Its eyes gleam and its teeth are bared in a snarl, and anyone with sense would turn tail and run. James never did have much of that, though. He wants to be there, physically, more than anything else in the world.

But the dead don't belong in the realm of the living.

.

Sometimes, there is nothing he wishes for more than a glimpse of the sky.

Sirius's cell is horribly claustrophobic, and he does get sick of finding out the time but gauging the amount of light falling on the floor of the corridor. Tonight, however, he is perfectly happy to do this. The sight of the full moon viewed through his human eyes makes him feel sick.

The corridor floor is being painted silver, and Sirius watches, transfixed, as the moonlight grows brighter. There is something so other-worldly and ethereal about it that sometimes it is hard to associate it with blood and torture and pain. But then Sirius thinks of Remus's bones snapping and cracking, and the illusion of innocence is broken.

He shudders as recollections of the transformation rise unbidden to his mind – the harsh sound of breaking bones (and the uninitiated could mistake it for Apparition but if _only_ it were that), the terror in Remus's eyes and always, always the screaming.

The screaming is the worst.

It echoes through his head, now – the almost primitive agony expressed in those terrible screams. A sudden memory, crisp and sharp as a photograph, appears in front of his eyes: Remus twists and turns on the floor as his bones change shape, his eyes wide and pleading and desperate. The big dog backs away, shaking with horror and beyond grateful that he can only see this in black and white.

(Sometimes he would wonder just how red Remus's blood really was.)

He wants to scream, too. He wants to pour out all his guilt and sorrow to the walls around him. But he has made himself a promise: he will not scream. He will not cry, and he will not laugh. Sirius is a Gryffindor, and he has his pride to think of.

(Remus is a Gryffindor, too. But Remus _screams_.)

But Remus is in agony, and there is nothing Sirius can do to help, and he _hates_ The Rat so much for doing this to all of them. James is dead and Sirius is trapped, and Remus screams as the full moon's light grows brighter.

A little whine builds up in Sirius's throat: perhaps a sign of how desperately he is aching to turn into a dog, to be with Remus as he changes and try to take away his suffering. What would Remus do, he wonders, if he turned up in the basement right now? Maybe he'd laugh, or smile, or tell him to _get-out-this-instant-Padfoot-it's-too-dangerous-al one_.

(No. Remus hates him.)

But Sirius _can't_ make any noise, because he promised himself he wouldn't, and being quiet is his own sort of rebellion. Instead his grey eyes burn like stars in the stifling darkness, and Bella just can't meet the intensity of his gaze.

Remus screams. Sirius doesn't have that freedom.

.

A long time ago, Peter thought the moon was beautiful.

It symbolised magic and poetry and things far away, and his childish heart was caught by its pearly effervescence. He used to spend hours gazing at it on full-moon nights; it always was at its loveliest then.

It was the first full moon that the Marauders spent together that shattered Peter's fancies. Oh, he had seen what the moon did to Remus before: he had watched Madam Pomfrey bandage his wounds on the day after, and he could see the misery in his friend's eyes the day before.

But it took the first full moon together for the moon's beauty to be stolen from Peter. Now it is tainted by wounds gushing blood and the crack of breaking bones and _screaming_, always the screaming, strong and terrible and unbelievably loud as if Remus pours everything he is into that scream.

The screaming is the worst.

So, no, the moon cannot be beautiful. Nothing that makes Remus suffer is beautiful. The moon is evil, and because of it Remus is screaming.

(If the moon is evil, what does that make Peter?)

The wind is picking up now, and the little rat huddles into itself as the huge white orb emerges above the horizon. A few stars twinkle valiantly, as if trying to outshine the moon, but it is effortlessly brighter than them. Peter can almost hear its scornful laughter.

(In his head, it sounds a lot like James and Sirius used to.)

Sometimes Peter thinks back to the old days, when the three of them would sneak down to the Whomping Willow under James's Invisibility Cloak, smirking to each other and drunk on their own cleverness. He remembers the way Remus's whole face would light up at the sight of them, his eyes bright with the joy of having friends. He never did think he was good enough for them.

(Peter wonders what led him to give Remus that message again.)

Peter remembers the infectious excitement that they would feel in the days leading up to the full moon. He wonders what came over them; what made them think it was something to be enjoyed? Why did they laugh when they lived through a nightmare every month?

Peter is only twenty-one, but his seventeen-year-old self feels a lifetime away. That boy thought the full moon was something to be enjoyed; that boy brushed away the bone-snaps and the blood and the screaming and focused on – what? What exactly was happy about it? What is there that makes the full moon beautiful?

(The feeling of friendship, perhaps.)

.

It never does seem real.

Human Remus knows that the transformation is painful. He knows that it is agony, knows that it is far beyond what most people ever have to endure. But he does not know as the other Remus (the feral one, the _wolf_ one) does exactly what it feels like.

Because surely it is impossible to feel this much pain. It cannot be real; if Remus really was in this level of agony, he would have cracked long before now.

(Well. He is stronger than he thinks he is.)

He knows the moon is beginning to rise when a white-hot bolt of anguish shoots through his heart. He gasps; for a moment all he knows is the pain, before his mind clears again. (After all, what he felt on the morning of November the second is far worse than this.)

The first bone to break is his calf. He bites down hard on his lip, because however much it hurts he cannot scream. Screaming is for animals, and Remus has to be a human for as long as he can. Other bones begin to crack – his knee, his wrist, his spine – and his lips are drawing blood but he _s__till can't scream._

He won't scream.

It is the moment that his neck begins to break that he finally gives in to the pain, opening his mouth and letting it all out. In an odd way, it is a relief to be able to scream – he is used to muffling it for his parents or his friends (ex-friends), and it is almost cleansing to be able to truly express what he is feeling.

Even though he hates the wolf, he cannot deny that it offers him a way to vent his emotions when the human is unable to deal with them.

Perhaps it is Remus's overactive imagination, but he is sure that it is the moment that he starts to scream that the wolf-mind emerges. It is almost unnoticeable, at first: smells suddenly seem sharper, and the room flickers into black-and-white.

(As if it had much colour in the first place.)

All his senses are on high alert and his ears have pricked up: the human part of him is desperately battling the wolf-mind for control of Remus's body. He is sure that if he wins this fight (and he has to, one day) that he will be able to keep his humanity.

Because this is truly the worst: the slow slipping away of sanity, the knowledge that everything that makes him Remus Lupin is abandoning him and leaving him with a slavering beast. It is the sick bloodlust that is rising up in him and knowing that he is losing all self-control and dignity.

His vocal chords are fraying; he screams (wails) like a wolf, and the scraps of his human mind cringe to hear the noise. At last the screaming is replaced entirely, and the wolf howls to the moon it cannot see. It leaps to its feet with a snarl, completely itself as soon as the cumbersome presence that tries to restrain it is gone. There is no way it could be mistaken for a human now.

Because however hard Remus tries to fight it, it always is a losing battle.

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**A/N: Please leave a review!**

**~Butterfly**


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